He began by wondering why Wilmot should have been so thoroughly5 upset by his wife's death, and went on to speculate how long that very unexpected and undesirable6 result might be likely to last. Becoming sanguine7 and comparatively cheerful at this point, he made up his mind that Chudleigh would get over it before long. Perhaps all had not gone very smooth with the Wilmots. Not that he had any particular reason to think so; but Wilmot was not a remarkably8 domestic man, and there might be perhaps a little spice of self-reproach in his sorrow. At all events, it would not last; that might be looked upon as certain. In the mean time, and in order that the world might not think Wilmot's conduct silly, sentimental9, or mysterious, Mr. Foljambe would be beforehand with the gossips and the curious, and, by assigning to his absence from England a motive10 in which the interests of his profession and those of his health should be combined, prevent the risk of its being imputed11 to anything so rococo12 as deep feeling.
"Gad13, I'll do it," said Mr. Foljambe, as he took his seat in his faultless brougham, having carefully completed an irreproachable14 afternoon toilette, in which every article of costume was integrally perfect and of the highest fashion, but as scrupulously15 adapted to his time of life as the dress of a Frenchwoman of middle or indeed of any age. "I'll go and inquire for that Kilsyth girl, and set the right story afloat there," he said, as he gave his coachman the necessary orders; "it will soon find its way about town, especially if that carrier-pigeon Caird is in the way."
And the old gentleman, chuckling16 over his own cleverness in hitting on so happy a device, felt almost reconciled already to the deprivation17 which he was doomed18 to suffer in the loss of Wilmot's society by the opportunity which it afforded him of exercising the small social talents, of which he really possessed19 a good many, and believed himself to be endowed with a good many more.
Lady Muriel Kilsyth was at home, likewise Miss Kilsyth; and her ladyship "received" that afternoon. So Mr. Foljambe, who, though an admittedly old man, long past the elderly stage, and no longer à pretention in any sense, was as welcome a visitor in a London drawing-room as the curliest of darlings and most irresistible20 of guardsmen, made his way nimbly upstairs, and was ushered21 into the presence of the two ladies, who formed an exceedingly pretty and effective domestic group.
Madeleine Kilsyth, who had recovered her beauty, though a little of her brilliance22 and her bloom was still wanting, was drawing, while her stepmother stood a little behind her chair, her dark graceful23 head bent24 over her shoulder, and directed her pencil. Mr. Foljambe's glance lighted on the two faces as he entered the room, and they inspired him with an instantaneous compliment, which he turned with grace, a little old-fashioned, but the more attractive. They answered him pleasantly; Lady Muriel gave him her hand; Madeleine suffered him to take both hers, and repaid the long look of interest with which he regarded her with her sweetest smile; then resumed her occupation, and listened, as she drew, to the conversation between Lady Muriel and Mr. Foljambe.
At first their talk was only of generalities: what the ladies had been doing since they came to London, the extent of Madeleine's drives, how many of their acquaintance had also arrived, the prospects26 of society for the winter, and cognate27 topics. They had seen a good deal of Ronald, Lady Muriel told Mr. Foljambe; and her brother's presence had been a great pleasure to Madeleine. A close observer might have thought that Madeleine's expression of countenance28 did not altogether confirm this statement; but her old friend was not a close observer of young ladies, and Lady Muriel did not look at her stepdaughter as she spoke1. After a while Mr. Foljambe turned the conversation upon Madeleine's illness, and so, in the easiest and most natural way, introduced Wilmot's name. Lady Muriel's manner of meeting this topic was admirable. She never failed in the aplomb29 which is part of the armour30 of a woman of the world; and though she never again could hear Wilmot's name mentioned with real composure, she had the mock article always at hand; so skilful31 an imitation as successfully to defy detection.
"A fine fellow, is he not, Lady Muriel?" said Mr. Foljambe, in the tone of a father desirous of hearing the praises of his favourite son.
"Indeed he is," responded Lady Muriel heartily32. "He has laid us under an obligation which we can never discharge or forget. I am sure Kilsyth and I reckon him among the most valued of our friends."
"He took the deepest interest in Miss Kilsyth's case, I know," said Mr. Foljambe; "and of course there was everything to excite such a feeling;" and the gallant33 old gentleman bowed in the direction of Madeleine, who acknowledged the compliment with a most becoming blush.
"It was a very anxious, a very trying time," said Lady Muriel, in the precise tone which suited the sentiment. "I don't know how Kilsyth would have borne it, had it not been for Dr. Wilmot. We were much distressed34 to hear that such bad news awaited him on his return. He found his wife dying, did he not?"
"He found her dead, Lady Muriel."
There was a pause, during which Madeleine laid aside her pencil, and shaded her face with her hand. The tears were standing35 in her blue eyes; and while Mr. Foljambe proceeded, they streamed unchecked down her face.
"Yes, he found her dead. It was a sudden termination to an illness which had nothing serious in it, to all appearance. But, as many another illness has done, it set all human calculations at naught36; and when the bad symptoms set in, it was too late for him to reach her in time. I suppose he has not told you anything about it?"
"No," said Lady Muriel; "beyond a few words of condolence, to which he made a very brief reply, nothing has been said. I fancy Dr. Wilmot is a man but little given to talking of his own afnot fairs or his own feelings."
"Not given to talking of them at all, Lady Muriel. I never met a more reticent37 man, even with myself; and I flatter myself he has no closer friend, none with whom he is on more confidential38 terms; he is very reserved in some things. I did not know much of his wife."
"Did you not?" said Lady Muriel; "how was that?"
"When I say I did not know much of her," Mr. Foljambe explained, "I do not mean that it was from any fault of mine. I called once or twice, but there was something sullen39 and impenetrable and uninteresting about her, and I never felt any real intimacy40 with her."
"Indeed!" said Lady Muriel, "it is impossible to know Dr. Wilmot without feeling interested in all that concerns him; and I have often wished to know what sort of woman his wife was."
"Well, that is precisely41 what very few persons in the world could have told you; and I, for one, acknowledge myself astonished at the effect her death has had on Wilmot."
"He is dreadfully cut up by it certainly," said Lady Muriel; "but I hope, and suppose, he will recover it, as other people have to recover troubles of that and every other kind."
"He is taking the best means of getting over it," said Mr. Foljambe; "and I heartily enter into the notion, and have encouraged him in it. He thinks of going abroad for some time. I know he has been very anxious to study the foreign treatment of diseases in general, and of fever in particular; and he came to me yesterday and told me he meant to leave London for six months at least. He assigned sound reasons for such a determination, and I think it is the wisest at which he could possibly have arrived."
Lady Muriel rose and rang the bell. The fire required mending, and the brief afternoon twilight42 rendered the lamps a necessity earlier than usual. When these things had been attended to, she took up the dialogue where it had been broken off with all her accustomed grace and skill.
"I did not know we were about to lose Dr. Wilmot for a time," she said. "If all his friends and patients miss him as much as Madeleine Kilsyth and myself are likely to do, his absence is likely to create a sensation indeed. And so poor Mrs. Wilmot was not a very amiable43, woman?"
Mr. Foljambe had not said anything about Mrs. Wilmot's amiability44, or the opposite, but he let the observation pass in sheer bewilderment; and that Lady Muriel Kilsyth understood as well as he did. She went on. "A man like Dr. Wilmot must miss companionship at home very much. Of course he can always command the resources of society, but they would not be welcome to him yet awhile. How long does he speak of remaining away, Mr. Foljambe?"
"He did not mention any particular time in talking the matter over with me. His destination is Berlin, I believe. He is anxious to investigate some medical system carried on there, which I need not say neither you nor I know anything about. He was very eloquent45 upon it, I assure you; and I am glad to perceive that all his trouble has not decreased his interest in the one great object of his life."
"His professional advancement46, I suppose?" said Lady Muriel.
"Well, not exactly that. I think he must retard47 that by any, and especially by an indefinite, absence. It is rather to his profession itself, to science in the abstract, I allude48. He always had a perfect thirst for knowledge, and the greatest powers of application I have ever known any man possessed of. A 'case' was in his eyes the most important of human affairs. He would throw himself into the interest of his attendance upon a patient with preternatural energy. I am sure you discovered that while he was at Kilsyth."
"Yes indeed; his care of Madeleine was beyond all praise, or indeed description. No doubt, had any other opportunity offered, we should have found, as you say, that such devotion was not a solitary49 instance."
"O no, Wilmot is always the same. You know, I presume, that I required his services very urgently indeed just then; but he would not leave Miss Kilsyth's case for even so old and near a friend as I am."
Madeleine's colour deepened, and she listened to the conversation, in which she had taken no share, with increased eagerness.
"I know that some one telegraphed to him, but that he kindly50 said Madeleine's case being the more urgent of the two, he would remain with her. And you were none the worse, it seems, Mr. Foljambe?"
"No indeed, Lady Muriel," replied the old gentleman with a good-humoured smile. "Wilmot's deputy did quite as well for me as the mighty51 potentate52 of medicine himself. But I acknowledge I was a little annoyed; and if anyone but my old friend Kilsyth's daughter had been the detaining cause, I should have been tempted53 to play Wilmot a trick, by pretending that some extraordinary and entirely54 novel symptoms had appeared. He would have come fast enough then, I warrant you, for the chance of finding out something new about gout."
Lady Muriel laughed, but Madeleine apparently55 did not perceive the joke. Soon some other callers dropped in, and Mr. Foljambe took his leave. But the subject of Wilmot and his contemplated56 abandonment of London was not abandoned on his departure. He was well known to the "set" in which the Kilsyths moved, though their own acquaintance with him was so recent, and everyone had something to say about the rising man. The sentimental view of the subject was very general. It was so very charming to think of any man, especially one so talented, so popular, so altogether delightful57 as Wilmot, being "broken-hearted" by the death of his wife. Lady Muriel gently insinuated58, once or twice, a doubt whether there was any ground for this very congenial but rather romantic supposition: her doubts, however, were by no means well received, and she found herself overwhelmed with evidence of the irremediably desolate59 condition of Wilmot's heart.
When the afternoon calls had come to an end, and Lady Muriel and her stepdaughter were in their respective rooms and about to dress for dinner, the mind of each was in accord with that of the other, inasmuch as the same subject of contemplation engrossed60 both. But the harmony went no farther. Nothing could be more opposite than the effect produced upon Madeleine and Lady Muriel by Mr. Foljambe's news, and by all the desultory61 discussion and speculation62 which had followed its announcement.
To Madeleine the knowledge that she should see Wilmot no more for an indefinite period was like a sentence of death. The young girl was profoundly unconscious of the meaning of her own feelings. That the sentiment which she entertained towards Wilmot was love, she never for a moment dreamed. In him the ideal of an elevated and refined fancy had found its realisation; he was altogether different from the men she had hitherto met since her emancipation63 from the schoolroom; different from the hunting, shooting devotees of field-sports, or the heavy country gentlemen given to farming and local politics, who frequented Kilsyth; different from the associates of her brother, who, whether they were merely fashionable and empty, or formal and priggish like Ronald himself, were essentially64 distasteful to her. She was of a dreamy and romantic temperament65, to which the delicacy66 of health and the not quite congenial conditions of her life at home contributed not a little; and she had seen in Wilmot the man of talent, action, and resolve, the realisation of the nineteenth-century heroic ideal. To admire and reverence67 him; to find the best and most valuable of resources in his friendship, the wisest and truest guidance in his intellect, the most exquisite68 of pleasures in his society; to triumph in his fame, and try to merit his approval,--such was the girl's scheme for the future. But it never occurred to her that there was one comprehensive and forbidden word in which the whole of this state of feeling might be accurately69 defined. She had grieved for Wilmot's grief when she heard of the death of his wife, but at the same time a subtle instinct, which she never questioned and could not have defined, told her that his marriage had not been a happy one, according to her enthusiastic girlish notion of a happy marriage. She did not know anything about it; she had no idea what sort of woman Chudleigh Wilmot's wife was, but she had felt, by the nameless sense which, had she been an elder woman with ever so little experience, would have enlightened her as to the nature of her own feelings, that he was not really attached to her to the extent which alone seemed to her to imply happiness in the conjugal70 relation. So, when Madeleine heard that Wilmot was going abroad, and heard her stepmother's visitors talk about his being "broken-hearted," she felt equally wretched and incredulous. Sentimental reason for this resolution she did not, she could not accept; the other was exquisitely71 painful to her. Had he, indeed, so absorbing a love for his professional studies? Was he really occupied by them to the exclusion72 of all else; had her "case," and not herself, been his attraction at Kilsyth? If Mr. Foljambe had really resorted to the device he had spoken of, would Wilmot have left her? To none of these questions could Madeleine find an answer inside her own breast, or without it; so they tortured her. Her vision of seeing him frequently, of making him her friend--the vision which had so strangely beautified the prospect25 of her stay in London,--faded suddenly; and unconscious of all the idea meant and implied, the girl said to herself, "If he had cared for me--not as I care for him, of course that could not be--but ever so little, he would not go away."
Very different were Lady Muriel's meditations73. To her this resolve on the part of Wilmot was peculiarly welcome. In the first place, she was a thorough woman of the world, and free from the impetuosity of youth. She was quite willing to be deprived of Wilmot's society for the present, if, as she calculated would be the case, he should return under circumstances which would enable her to reckon with increased security upon gaining the influence over him to which she ardently74 aspired75, to which she aspired more and more ardently as each day proved to her how strong an impulse her life had taken from this new source. She cared little from what motive Wilmot's resolve had sprung. If indeed he had deeply loved, and if indeed he did desperately76 mourn his wife, the very power and violence of the feeling would react upon itself, and force him to accept consolation77 all the sooner that he had proved the greatness of his need of it. He would be absent during the dark time when grief forms an eclipse, and he would emerge from its shadow into the brightness which she would cause to shine upon his life. She did not anticipate that his absence would be greatly prolonged, but she did not shrink, even supposing it should be, from the interval78. She had enough to do within its duration. Lady Muriel was as thoroughly acquainted with Madeleine's love for Wilmot as the girl was ignorant that she loved him. There was not a corner of her innocent heart which the keen experienced eye of her stepmother had not scanned and examined narrowly.
In Madeleine's perfect ignorance of the real nature of her own feelings Lady Muriel's best security for the success of her wishes and designs lay. As she had no notion that her love was aught but liking79, she would be the more easily persuaded that her liking was love. She had a liking for Ramsay Caird. The gay, careless, superficial good-nature of the young man, his easy gentlemanly manners, and the familiarity with which his intercourse80 with the Kilsyth family was invested in consequence of his relationship to Lady Muriel, were all pleasing to the young girl; and probably, "next to Ronald," she preferred Ramsay Caird to any man of her acquaintance. Of late, too, an unexplained something had come between Madeleine and her brother--a certain restraint, a subtle sense of estrangement--which Lady Muriel thoroughly understood, but for which Madeleine could not have accounted, and shrunk from acknowledging to herself. This unexplained something, which made her look forward to Ronald's visits with greatly decreased pleasure, and made her involuntarily silent and depressed81 in his presence, told considerably82 in Ramsay Caird's favour; for it led to Madeleine's according him an increased share of her attention. The young man was a constant visitor at the Kilsyths'; and there was so much decision in Madeleine's liking for him, that she missed him if by any chance he was absent of an evening, and occasionally was heard to wonder what could have kept Mr. Caird away.
Madeleine's delicate health furnished Lady Muriel with a sufficient and reasonable pretext83 for keeping her at home in the evenings; and she contrived84 to make it evident that Ramsay Caird's presence constituted a material difference in the dulness or the pleasantness of the little party which assembled with tolerable regularity85 in the drawing-room. Ronald would come in for an hour or so, and then Madeleine would be particularly prévenante towards Ramsay Caird; an innocent and unconscious hypocrisy86, poor child, which her stepmother perfectly87 understood, and which she saw with deep though concealed88 satisfaction.
On the evening of the day when Mr. Foljambe had discussed Wilmot's departure with Lady Muriel and Madeleine, the elder lady was a little embarrassed by the manifest effect on the looks and the spirits of the younger which the intelligence had produced. At dinner Kilsyth perversely89 chose to descant90 on the two themes with all a single-minded man's amiable pertinacity91, and, of course, without the smallest conception that any connection existed between them. He was quite aggrieved92 at Wilmot's departure, and called on everyone to take notice of Madeleine's looks in confirmation93 of the loss he and his in particular must sustain by his absence. Ronald was of the party; and he preserved so marked and ungracious a silence, that at length even Kilsyth could not avoid noticing it, and said:
"I suppose you are the only man who knows him, Ronald, who underrates Wilmot; and I really believe you think we make quite an unnecessary fuss about him."
"I by no Means underrate the abilities of your medical attendant, sir," Ronald answered in his coldest and driest tone, and, as Madeleine felt in all her shrinking nerves, though she dared not look up to meet it, with a moody94 searching glance at her; "but, admirable as he may be in his proper capacity and his proper place, I cannot quite appreciate his social importance."
"Just listen to him, Muriel," said Kilsyth in a provoked but yet good-humoured tone. "What wonderful fellows these young men are! He actually talks of a man like Wilmot as if he were a general practitioner95 or an apothecary's apprentice96!"
Lady Muriel interposed, and turned off this somewhat perilous97 and peace-breaking remark with one of the graceful, skilful generalities of which she always had a supply ready for emergencies. Ronald contented98 himself with a half smile of contempt at his father's enthusiastic misrepresentation; Madeleine talked energetically to Ramsay Caird; and the matter dropped.
To be resumed in the drawing-room, however. Madeleines looks were not improved when her father and the two young men joined her and Lady Muriel. She was dreaming over a book which she was pretending to read, when Kilsyth came up to her, took her chin in his hand, and turned up her face to his and to the light.
Tears were trembling in her blue eyes.
"Hallo, Maddy," said her father, "what's this? You're nervous, my darling! I knew you were not well. Has anything fretted99 you?--Has anything vexed100 her, Muriel?"
"No, papa, nothing; nothing at all," said Madeleine, making a strong effort to recover herself. "I have got hold of a sorrowful book, that's all."
"Have you, my dear? then put it away. Let's look at it. Why, it's Pickwick, I declare! Maddy, what can all you? How could you possibly cry over anything in Pickwick?"
"I don't know that, sir," said Ramsay, jauntily101 and jovially102 coming to Madeleine's assistance, without the faintest notion of anything beyond her being "badgered by the governor." "There's the dying clown, you know, and the queer client. I've cried over them myself; or at least I've been very near it," And he sat down beside Madeleine, and applied103 himself with success to rousing and amusing her. Ronald said nothing, and very soon went away.
"I'm determined104 on one thing, Muriel," said Kilsyth to his wife when they were alone; "I'll have a long talk with Wilmot before he goes, and get the fullest instructions from him about Madeleine. I have no confidence in anyone else in her case, and I'll write to Wilmot about it, and ask him to come here professionally, as soon as he can, the first thing to-morrow morning."
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1
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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6
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rococo
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| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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deprivation
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| n.匮乏；丧失；夺去，贫困 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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cognate
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| adj.同类的，同源的，同族的；n.同家族的人，同源词 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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aplomb
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| n.沉着，镇静 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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43
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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45
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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46
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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retard
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| n.阻止，延迟；vt.妨碍，延迟，使减速 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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potentate
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| n.统治者；君主 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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54
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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56
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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59
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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conjugal
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| adj.婚姻的，婚姻性的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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88
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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descant
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| v.详论，絮说；n.高音部 | |
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91
pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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92
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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93
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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94
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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95
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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97
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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98
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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99
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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100
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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101
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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102
jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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103
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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104
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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